"And he is your uncle?"
"Yes. At his instigation I am forced to do these things against my will," she declared in a hard, bitter voice. "Ah, if only you knew—if you knew everything, M'sieur, I believe you would have pity and compassion for me—you would allow me one more chance—a chance to escape—a chance to try once more to break away from these hateful men who hold me in the hollow of their hands!"
She spoke so fervently, so earnestly, that her appeal sank deeply into my heart. By her despairing manner I saw that she hoped for no clemency, for no sympathy, especially from me, who had actually been suspected of the robbery in Copenhagen which she and her confederates had committed.
"What have you in that bag?" I asked, indicating the black silk bag beneath her coat.
She placed her small hand into it and slowly and shamefacedly drew forth a splendid collar of large pearls.
"I took it from the next room," she said briefly. "I will replace it if—if only you would allow me to get away," she added wistfully.
"And the other stuff you have stolen?"
"Ah! My uncle has it. He has already gone—carrying it with him!"
"Deserted you—and left you to your fate—as soon as he realized the danger," I remarked. "The coward!"